Jim Halpert and the Infinite Sadness
by Baz Sabotage
Summary: Dwight and Andy come to a head over Angela, Michael comes up with an insane new plan to increase his family, and no one wants to talk about the dead guy in the parking lot.
1. Every Cop Is A Criminal

_"I'd give up sex for kreative kontrol!"_

_-Hot Snakes_

**Jim Halpert and the Infinite Sadness  
**

The way Michael bolted with Free Pretzel Day energy out of his office, Pam could tell right away he'd been on YouTube, which could only mean the worst.

"Pam," Michael began, looking hideously jubilant, "could you call Jan for me. And put it on speaker."

And although she knew it would only bring pain and suffering to everyone involved, Pam complied.

As the phone rang, Michael bit his lower lip in a school boyish attempt to stave off the giggles.

"Hello?" Jan finally picked up.

"Jan," Michael struggled to say, "this is Michael."

Pause. "Hello, Michael," she sighed in exasperation.

"I'm just calling to tell you," and here he had to physically clamp his mouth shut to avoid laughing.

"Yes?" Jan asked, annoyed.

"I just wanted to tell you... I'm fucking Matt Damon," he snorted rapidly before bursting out laughing.

Jan rightly saw this as a good time to angrily hang up the phone, which in turn caused Michael to laugh hysterically. Pam looked directly into the camera and rolled her eyes.

--

Pam: I think most people know that jokes have an expiration date when they just stop being funny...

Pause.

Pam: That's usually when Michael starts hearing them for the first time.

--

"Hey, Jim," Michael shouted across the room, "I'm fucking Matt Damon!"

"Congratulations," Jim replied casually.

"Stanley!" Michael called.

"Hmm?" Stanley stirred in his fitful sleep.

"I'm fucking Matt Damon!" Michael informed him.

"Mm-hm," Stanley mumbled.

"Hey, Creed! I'm fucking Matt Damon!" Michael screamed between fits of chuckling.

"Well, uh, I'm fucking Ben Affleck," Andy chimed in.

Michael eyed the other man uncomfortably. "Andy, if you're going to do a bit, you should at least try to do it right. It's Matt Damon."

"But, I..."

Michael shh'ed him. "Don't."

--

Angela, quietly furious: Sometimes I really wonder if Michael understands the boundaries of taste.

--

Michael, using an implacable accent: Hello, I'm Samuel L. Jackson. You all know me as an actor, but I'd like to take a moment now to speak to you as a mother.

Pause.

Michael: ...Fucker.

**part one.**

It was a fresh, dewy morning in Scranton when the film crew arrived on the scene. As had a tendency to happen, by the time they got to the building, their work was already presenting itself before them like a horny panda.

Creed was staring in rapt fascination at a seemingly-derelict vintage automobile; tapping on the glass as though the sole occupant were a goldfish he bore an inexplicable grudge towards (which of course it wasn't) and not the corpse of a fellow human being (which of course it was). He then proceeded to cock his head to side, as if though trying to recognize the body.

When he became aware that he was being filmed, Creed abruptly (and angrily) stopped what he was doing and tried to make his way into the building as discretely as possible.

--

Creed: No, I'm not going to report finding the dead kid to the police.

He shrugs.

Creed: I'm sorry, but there are only so many bodies a guy can find before it starts getting suspicious.

--

"Dwight," Andy called as he walked through the door.

Dwight turned to face the other salesman, and was rewarded for his trouble with a punch to his face; a punch which Pam or Angela would have had no trouble shrugging off, but nonetheless managed to send Dwight staggering backwards out of his chair.

"Thou art a villain!" Andy shouted, somehow completely straight-faced.

As was tradition, a crowd formed out of nowhere to observe the brutal spectacle.

"You okay, buddy?" Jim asked as he helped Dwight off the ground.

"As if_ he_ could hurt me," Dwight attempted to give the whole thing a derisive snort, but it mixed with blood and terror, he nearly ended up choking.

"What's this all about, Andy?" Jim asked gently.

"Dwight is making fuck with my woman!" Andy roared angrily.

Dwight froze, Angela somehow went even paler and stiffer, animals bared their fangs. As one, the whole of the office internally debated whether their morbid curiosity and need for gossip outweighed their deep-seated desire to never ever ever have to so much as contemplate the idea of any of those three people even _having_ genitals, much less using them.

"That's ridiculous," Dwight said in the single least believable tone ever employed by a man or a woman. "Angela and I barely know each other."

"Hotel!" Andy shouted, slapping a photo on the table that was as incriminating as it was horrific. "Motel!" Andy bellowed, adding an even more damning piece of photographic evidence. "Holiday Inn!" Andy concluded, adding a final nail so unquestionable that even Creed and Kevin started to feel nauseous at the sight of it.

Angela and Dwight couldn't help exchange a guilty look... then promptly turn away from each other shamefully.

Andy brought his eyes to Angela's for the first time, and amid all the pain and anger, there was a plea.

Jim was suddenly torn. Part of him wanted to do something to defuse of all of this as safely as possible for everyone concerned... but another, more cynically playful part of wanted to really stir the pot and see how far all this could really go, as he'd done with Dwight and Andy since he'd met them. It was a moral stumper, all right, and one without an easy solution.

So he decided to split the difference. "Guys, there's only one way we can settle this."

Both men turned to look at him seriously.

And then Jim said the two words he instinctively knew they would both respect and abide by: "trivia quiz."

To the surprise of no one, Dwight and Andy immediately agreed, while Angela seemed incredibly pleased with the idea of being treated like a prize to be won.

"Okay," Jim said, trying maintain a respectfully funeral tone despite clearly being incredibly amused, "each of you go to your isolation booths... Dwight to the hallway, Andy to the annex, I guess... and I'm going to ask Angela some questions."

As much as she loved him, there were times when Pam was fairly certain that Jim's childish pranks were going to murder everyone in the office at some point.

In fact, she was almost relieved when Michael popped into the room and called "Pam, can I see you in my office?"

--

Michael, shocked: Two salesmen were fighting over _Angela_?

Pause.

Michael: From _accounting_?

He pauses to grapple with this idea.

Michael: Are you sure?

--

Michael ushered Pam into a chair and closed the door behind them. "Pam," Michael began slowly, as though he were saying something terribly poignant, "you probably know that I've been trying to start a family for a while now."

"Yes," Pam nodded, hesitantly. She wished she could hope it was ungrounded, but she couldn't shake the fear that Michael was about to ask her for a couple of eggs... at the very least.

Michael returned the nod with added gravitas. "Now, a while ago I revised my NetFlicks queue to include every movie Kristen Bell ever made and..."

"Um," Pam interjected sheepishly, "are you sure this is something you want to tell me?"

"...yes," Michael said hesitantly.

Pam nodded. "And you're sure you want to make a major life decision based on a movie made by the Lifetime channel?" she asked, eying the DVD still cued up on Michael's computer.

"It's worked out for me so far," Michael replied simply.

To which Pam could only offer a jim-nod.

"Anyway, I just got this movie from NetFlicks, and it changed the way I look at the world," Michael said in hushed awe. "Kristen is a seventeen year old girl... not really, she always plays younger," Michael inserted defensively.

"Of course," Pam agreed, somehow wiggling uncomfortably while standing completely still.

Michael, however, was reassured and continued. "Anne Heche is her mother, and she is a heroin addict..."

"In the movie?" Pam asked.

Michael seemed unsure of this point. "...Yes. And in the movie, Kristen _sues_ her mother and actually adopts all of her little brothers." At this point, Michael smiled beatifically. "And... when I saw that I realized 'I have the perfect family waiting for me, too.'"

Pam's eyes widened in abject horror. "Oh, no..."

"And they're right on the other side of that wall," Michael concluded with soft warmth.

"You want to adopt the entire office?" Pam asked, still not grappling with the reality of it.

Michael merely nodded in a manner he deemed "Christ-like, but not to a degree that would upset anyone."

"Michael, they're all legal adults," Pam argued sanely.

Michael shrugged it off. "So, adults don't have parents? There was a box for it on the employment application, Pam. These people have to have _someone_ to call on Thanksgiving."

Despite knowing better, Pam gave one more shot at sanity. "I just don't know if we could get everyone to divorce their parents."

"They will if we have them declared unfit," Michael said certainly. "Now, this is the name of the private detective Andy recommended," Michael said, thrusting a business card in her hand. "Tell him to make sure he finds something that will look good in the courts. At least as good as heroin addiction."

Pam looked from the card to Michael in disbelief. "Are you sure this isn't something you want to handle yourself?"

Michael shook his head. "Pam, I can only keep this movie for so long before I start getting late fees from NetFlicks," he said as though it were obvious. "And if I'm going to be raising all of you, I need to learn everything I can."

Pam nodded softly and walked out the door, knowing she would find sanity on the other side.

"Okay," Jim said, tapping a pile of index cards (which were actually blank, but that didn't matter), "who... is Angela's favorite private detective?" he asked in properly pointed game show host fashion. "Is it Mannix? Barnaby Jones? Somebody say Columbo..."

Andy complied, shouting "Columbo" as loud as he could... then sheepishly shrunk into himself when all eyes turned to him.

"You don't know me at all," Angela muttered in pure, distilled hatred.

"Is it Batman?" Jim continued, undaunted.

--

Pam's eyes dart from the right side of the screen...

...to the left...

...and finally to center.

She says nothing, but there's clearly a cry for help in there.

--

The first thing Phyllis noticed on her way back from her trip to the dentist was the young man slumped over in his car with his head on the steering wheel.

The second thing she noticed was that vandals seemed to have absconded with the lower half of his face.

Her first instinctive reaction (after the fear and trembling and revulsion were out of her system) was to run to the security desk and call the police; that's just what good people did when faced with dead boys in their day-to-day life: call the police.

And she was on her way to do just that...

...When she noticed the young man's car was parked in a spot marked "Reserved for Vance Refrigeration Customers Only."

And so, for the first time in her life, Phyllis to resolved quietly forget what she'd seen, sit back down at her desk, and tell no one about what she had seen.

Ever.


	2. And All The Sinners Saints

**Author's notes:** If I could be anyone in the world, I'd be Grant Morrison. Special thanks to the Capes... I can't believe I forgot how good an album "Hello" actually is.

**part two.**

Michael: Why am I doing this?

He smiles in a manner he'd hoped passed as "thoughtful outrospection."

Michael: In the end, I think everything comes down to love.

Dramatic pause.

Michael: I love each and every one of my employees, and it only makes sense that I should be all things to them. They need a father they can really rely trust; someone to claim them... someone to follow...

He nods wistfully, simultaneously trying to force a tear and keep from crying.

Michael: These people needs a better class of daddy, and I'm going to give it to them.

--

"Okay, next question," Jim began. "Angela's first love will always be her cats."

Andy nodded, which Dwight saw and instantly started trying to out-nod him.

Jim appreciated this silently for a moment before moving on. "Name three of them."

Faster than the human eye could follow, Dwight's hand shot straight up. "Question."

"Yes, Dwight?" Jim said.

"Are we only counting living cats or can I include the cat I murdered?" Dwight asked as though it were perfectly sane.

As could be expected, Jim was at a loss for words. As was Angela, though her face spoke volumes.

Pam noticed the camera behind her and gave it a wide-eyed stare.

--

Pam, trying desperately to convince herself: No, I think Jim's really helping the three of them.

Awkward pause.

Pam: I mean, he could certainly be making things worse.

There is a longish silence in which Pam tried to figure out exactly _how._

Pam: ...He could have offered to cut Angela in half so they could both have one.

--

Andy: I call top half!

--

Dwight snickers in contempt.

Dwight: He's welcome to it.

--

With understandable reluctance, Pam picked up the phone and dialed the number Michael had given her. This could only end badly, she knew, but she could either help Michael in his insane adoption plot or deal with the fact that her boyfriend was currently hostng a game of Scatagories to decide the fate of the other key office relationship.

On the other end, they picked up on the first ring, which Pam couldn't help but resent slightly. "Yauch Investigations, this is Kate."

"Hi, this is Pam Beesly at Dunder Mifflin, calling on behalf of my employer Michael Scott," Pam employing her most business tone.

"Who can we help you, Pam?" the crisp business voice on other end reflected.

Pam gave a businessly smile, secretly knowing it could be felt on the other line. "Mr. Scott has a problem and he's interested in bringing Mr. Yauch in as a consultant on the matter. Could we be fit in some time today?"

"Absolutely, Pam," Kate replied with business-sweetness. "Could you tell us the nature of the problem over the phone or this something a little more sensitive?"

Pam thought for a moment. If she told the detective agency Michael's insane plot to adopt the company, they'd certainly refuse him outright... which in turn would cause Michael to assume the responsibility onto himself, with the worst possible consequences.

"No, I think this is definitely something that Michael would like to discuss face to face," she replied, smiling broadly.

--

Pam, proudly: I think at this point I understand how Michael thinks better than anyone else.

She slowly realizes what she's said and her face promptly plummets.

--

After a lunch date that left her more than satisfied and him enjoying a treasured moment of brief silence, Kelly bid Darryl farewell and left him to clean up his car.

It was a bright sunny day and she had a song in her heart (it was Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl," which was unfortunate for anyone in the immediate vicinity as she kept singing it. Very loudly); and Kelly Kapoor couldn't help but feel that her life was only going to get better from here.

She had barely turned the corner from the warehouse parking lot when she spotted the body.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!" Kelly squealed in sheer terror.

Then, displaying an uncharacteristic inability to restrain her emotions, Kelly lurched over and was violently ill.

"Hrrucch..."

For a few seconds, she stood frozen, breathing heavy, nearly weeping, trying desperately to regain her footing on reality.

And then she realized the full extent of the horror.

_"My shoes!"_

--

Kelly: I'm not trying to be insensitive or anything, but these shoes went with everything and they _weren't_ cheap.

Thoughtful pause.

Kelly: I wonder if I could sue the dead guy's family to pay for them.

--

Over lunch, Jim and Pam took a break from the respective quagmires to compare notes.

"So," Jim asked while trying to size up the most appetizing chunk of pineapple to impale with his fork, "Michael wants to adopt all of us because of a movie with Christian Bale?"

"_Kristen Bell_," Pam corrected.

Jim nodded in recognition. "That makes more sense."

Pam raised an eyebrow to her de facto fiance's obvious insanity. "This is going to be one of those things you have to explain to me."

Jim gave a slight shrug."I guess I just have hard time accepting Michael having a crush on Christian Bale."

"Sounds like someone hasn't since _Dark Knight_ yet," Andy sang.

Everyone jumped in and had a nice, deep soak in the awkward.

"Uh, hi, Andy..." Jim trousered.

"Tuna," Andy 'clicked' his finger like a gun.

"Andy," Pam gave a short nod used largely for ceremonial purposes.

Andy gave Pam a forced manticore of a smile. "Hey there sports fan, mind if I talk something over with the Missus?"

Try as she might, Pam couldn't think of a reason why not. "Sure," she agreed, knowing full well she might be resigning Jim to certain doom.

He shot her a silent, bewildered plea not to be so abandoned, which Pam could only meet sadly...

Then turn and walk away.

And there was silence for a moment as Jim tried desperately to swallow himself in a last, mad attempt at escape.

"Hey," Jim offered lamely, "I know you guys are tied so far, but the next round is the 'Lightning Round,' so..."

Instantly, Jim felt incredibly stupid.

And then Andy said something Jim couldn't have predicted.

"I don't care about that, Tuna," he sighed.

Jim raised a cautious eyebrow. "Really?"

Andy shook his head. "The fact is, I don't even know if I want to be with Angela at all anymore."

And yet Jim still couldn't accept what he was hearing. "_Really_?"

Andy nodded. "I mean, I had to jump through all these hoops before she'd even go out with me," he reflected morosely. "Now I find out the love I thought I'd earned she was giving away for free."

And just like that, Jim realized Andy was a human being.

There was an awkward pause.

"Was that from a Lemonheads song?" Jim asked finally.

"Gin Blossoms," Andy corrected him.

Jim nodded slowly. "Right..."

"I only agreed to this stupid contest because I thought she'd tell me I didn't need to," Andy lamented. "Instead she's actually enjoying it! Who the fuck could do that?"

And there was such a horrible lack of venom in that question that Jim couldn't help but feel incredibly guilty.

"I don't know, Andy."

--

Jim stares at the camera.

Jim, very slowly: You know... sometimes I'm not sure how good... a human being I am.

He arcs his eyebrows sadly.

--

Andy, singing with complete passion and conviction: Whispers at the bus stop...

Andy lifts up his right hand to reveal a mobile phone.

Andy's phone, ditto: I heard about...

Andy lifts his left hand to reveal a second mobile phone.

Andy's other phone, likewise ditto: Nights out in the school yard...

Andy:I found out about...

Andy and both phones: ...you-ou. I found out about you...

--

It was a harder battle than usual trying to restrain himself, but somehow Michael managed to keep his mouth shut until all of his employees were seated in the conference room, but somehow he made it.

"Now," he began briskly and brusquely, "I'm sure you're all wondering why I called this meeting."

"Not even slightly," Stanley murbled.

Michael made a mental note to ground Stanley as soon as the paperwork went through. "There are two things I need to discuss with all of you," Michael rolled along. "First: I've noticing in your emails that a number of you think my Jessica Rabbit references are out of date."

He paused meaningfully.

"You are wrong," he declared declaratively.

Jim gave a jim-nod.

"I just didn't get the reference," Kelly said, which was promptly ignored.

"But more importantly," Michael said, somehow finding his way back on track, "I'm here to talk to all of you about the future."

"Question," Dwight raised a hand. "Does this in any way involve robots?"

"Why, you want to have sex with them, too?" Andy sniped snarkily.

Dwight, however, actually needed to consider this. "How believable would the vagina technology be?"

Jim's eyes widened in abject terror.

Michael realized this was an ideal moment to start cutting a more paternal role. "Andy, that kind of language stops now. All any of us has is each other."

One by one, each of his employees raised a compelling counterexample, all of which either completely failed to dissuade Michael or else would be negated by his next announcement.

Michael turned to embrace each of his employees as one. "You are here because the outside world rejects you. _This_ is your family. _I_ am your father and..."

"Michael," Pam called from the door. "The detective is here."

Michael clapped his hands together. "Good! Then we can get started."

The Detective was ushered in and Michael offered his hand. "Mr. Yauch, I'm glad you could make it."

Detective Yauch approached Michael with professional grade caution. "Mr. Scott, I'd like to speak to you privately for a moment."

Michael shook his head. "Anything you need to say to me you can say in front of my children."

The room shared a moment of awkward confusion.

Yauch realized he'd better cut right to the chase. "Look, I don't know what you've heard, but I can't help you cover up a criminal act," he insisted, his eyes never straying from the camera. "Certainly not one of that magnitude. I'm a legitimate licensed private investigator. I've already phoned the police and..."

"Wait," Michael butted in, more confused than usual, "what the hell are you talking about?"

And now it was the detective's turn to look confused. "The dead guy in the parking lot."

The entire room was awash with shock, except Phyllis, Creed, and Kelly, who merely looked incredibly guilty.

"Isn't that why you called me?" Yauch asked, baffled.

For his part, Michael turned fish-belly white, then very quickly added some little green in a failed attempt at coloration, before finally leaping into action. "Everybody to the parking lot," he ordered. "Pam, bring my poking stick."

--

Michael, defensively: I just want to make sure he's really dead.


	3. Just Call Me Lucifer

_I sat on this chapter for three months trying to decide if it was funny enough to post._

_And I'm still not sure._

**part three.  
**

Andy, visibly shaken: I never seen a dead body before.

Pause.

Andy: Which made pulling the plug on my Gram-gram a little complicated, but...

Pause.

Andy: It's just not my scene.

--

Michael, still a sweaty pale green: Where could this kid have come from?

Pause.

Michael: Could Toby have killed him and left him here before he fled the country?

He nods.

Michael: It's possible.

--

Creed, casually: You know, I finally heard that Miley Cyrus speak the other day.

He nods cautiously.

Creed: Somehow it just seems wrong that she can talk at all.

--

Despite everything, Pam couldn't help but be amazed at the types of conversations that came up during the "waiting for the police" part of her day.

"Does anyone know this guy?" Oscar finally came out and asked.

Mostly there was silence, but Jim somehow found it in him to shake his head.

"You can't know that for certain," Dwight corrected him quietly. "If someone really wants to, they can change their appearance completely and hide in plain sight. Like that Serbian war criminal."

Creed nodded in recognition. "Garth Brooks," he volunteered.

Phyllis squinted. "Garth Brook isn't a war criminal."

"Probably he is," Jim said, more out of nervousness than anything else.

--

Jim, with glum distraction: Yeah... I didn't think I was the kind of guy that made jokes in front of dead people, either...

Pause.

Jim: But I've really learned a lot about myself today...

--

"He looks so natural," Kelly mused.

Pam blanched. "He's missing half of his face."

"I thought that was just something you said at funerals. I didn't think it had to really mean anything," Kelly replied defensively. "Like 'I'm sorry for your loss.'"

"This isn't a funeral," Stanley ruminated lowly.

"It could be, though," Phyllis offered. "I mean, I know none of us knew him, but that doesn't mean we can't say a few words or something. What do you think, Michael?"

Michael had been uncharacteristically silent since he unearthing of the corpse, which failed comfort his employees for the same reason most biological entities are less at ease about a hurricane when they realize they're in the eye of it.

Michael shook his head. "I just can't believe this happened on my watch."

Phyllis placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

--

Michael: This is the worst tragedy since Kelly Bundy had her boobs cut out.

--

Jim had taken the opportunity to slip away from the crowd and stare wistfully over the gate.

"Hey, Tuna!" Andy called over.

Jim turned to face Andy and Dwight, who were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a way that couldn't help but draw attention to their many Dweedle Dee and Dweedle Dum-like qualities. "Yeah?"

"Who won?" Andy asked.

Jim cocked an eyebrow to indicate his complete lack of understanding. "What?"

"Who won the contest?" Dwight demanded.

Jim looked at each of coworkers in turn. He thought about that pathetic look he'd seen in Andy's eyes in the breakroom earlier that day and the horrible unearthly wailing he'd heard coming from Dwight's bedroom the night he and Pam had stayed at the farmhouse. He looked at each of them in turn and he saw that same sad, crippling desperation in both their eyes.

"You know what," he said finally, "nobody wins."

And, with that, he walked away.

--

Dwight, biting down on his fury: I cannot believe that Jim would let me down in this, his most sacred of callings... when I infiltrate my woman with mystic lightening rod, I need to know that she is truly mine by right of conquest!

--

Andy: ...

He looks sidewise at the camera.

Andy: You know, I kinda think the Tuna knew what he was doing this time.

--

Michael continued to stare at the body as though hypnotized. "I can't believe we all end up like this," he reflected.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Yeah... I don't think most of us end up in a car with our faces shot off."

"It happened to my dad _and_ my uncle," Michael said softly.

Oscar was saved from having to deal with this new information by the timely intervention of the authorities.

"Dunder Mifflin?"

Jim nodded. "That's us."

"I'm Investigating Officer Horovitz, my partner Investigating Officer Diamond," the cop said, giving the standard police introduction for his partner. "We'd like to ask all of you a few questions."

Dwight immediately jumped at the officers.

"Except him," Investigating Officer Horovitz said simply.

There was a general nervousness as to whom exactly would be the first one to speak to the police, followed by a smaller sort of nervous as to whether it was a "who" or "whom" situation, but the end it was Pam who took the initiative to step and say "let me show you where we found the body."

Pam lead the policemen to the car where the body was still waiting, a task not made easier by the crowd that had milled around it.

"I guess you must see a lot of this, huh?" Michael asked, trying to speak as tersely as possible.

Investigating Officer Diamond eyed him with cold disdain. "There were exactly two homicides in Scranton in the last year."

"Oh my God," Michael gasped in horror.

Officer Diamond said nothing.

"How old do you think this kid was?" Michael persisted. "Nineteen, twenty?"

"He's twenty-seven," Investigating Officer Diamond said gruffly, holding the dead guy's driver's license aloft.

"The same age as Kristen Bell," Michael said, hushed as though it were terribly significant. "Everything has come full circle."

"Don't you think he looks like Balthazar Getty?" Kelly squeaked, as though she were looking at a friend's MySpace profile.

"Kelly, the man is dead," Pam pointed out bluntly.

Kelly recoiled, slightly hurt. "I'm just trying to honor his memory."

"You know," Michael began, drawing himself up to full pomp, "There's a lesson in all this."

"Oh, here we go," Stanley grumbled.

"This could have been anyone us," Michael argued. "Especially Meredith. He blew his mind out in a car..."

"Actually, it hasn't been ruled a suicide yet," Investigating Officer Horovitz pointed out.

Michael brushed him off. "Just a matter of time."

Investigating Officer Horovitz nodded. "Just a matter of time and the laws of physics being completely rewritten on the fly, yes."

"Well, there you go," Michael said, as though he'd just handed the officer an Emmy. "I wasn't just watching _Harvey_ _Birdman Attorney at Law_ for laughs, you know."

The officer grunted something, but Michael wasn't about to start listening to reason at that point.

"I don't know about you," Michael continued, trying to keep the tears from obscuring the vision of the people he cherished more than his iPod full of Bill Cosby albums, "but I couldn't live with myself knowing that had happened to any one of you. They say the hardest thing in the world is to lose a child, and my heart's just too big to survive something like that."

"So, you're not going to adopt us?" Pam asked.

Michael shook his head. "No, Pam," he choked on hushed emotion, clearly thinking he was crushing her every last hope. "No, I'm not..."

Pam let out a silent breath of relief while the rest of the office and the visiting police presence could only look incredibly confused.

"But that's not enough," he continued, "I still be worried about all of you... coming into work every day and parking in Crime Alley."

"There's been one crime in this parking lot in the thirty years since this building was erected," Investigating Officer Diamond argued, wrestling down his fury.

"Actually, we found a marijuana cigarette here two years ago," Dwight pointed out, while Kevin tittered like a school girl over the word "erected."

"So, that's two crimes that have happened in this parking lot," Michael whispered.

"Three if you count the hit and run you did on me last September," Meredith reminded them.

The two cops looked at each and Investigating Officer Diamond turned to a fresh page in his notepad.

"It wasn't a hit and run," Dwight hissed. "And Michael made sure you got medical attention after he crippled you temporarily."

"Thank you, Dwight," Michael nodded gratefully. "I know it's just a matter of time before this parking lot claims its next victim, and I'm not about to let it be one of you, so..." Michael took a breath "...effective immediately, you're all fired."

And with that, Michael turned and ran back into the building, not doubt to unless a sea of tears that would put Alice Liddell to shame (and not a cake marked "eat me" in sight anywhere).

And, for a time, there was silence.

"Do you think we should still say something?" Phyllis nervously asked.

Everyone turned to stare at her with a total lack of comprehension, which made Phyllis understandably nervous.

"For..." she shrugged her head in the direction of the dead man.

"Oh, who the fuck cares?!" Stanley shouted**.**

**End**


End file.
